


Field of Flowers

by PeachGO3



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Falling In Love, Fluff, Hair Brushing, M/M, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:42:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26127448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachGO3/pseuds/PeachGO3
Summary: In the evening, Riker helps Worf take care of his hair.
Relationships: William Riker/Worf
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48





	Field of Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> Just something short and sweet – the title and lyrics are from [“Field of Flowers”](https://youtu.be/VG1Fmd6pQ4Q) by Sixpence None The Richer, one of my favorite Worfriker songs – the lyrics even reference romantic poetry hihi. I hope you enjoy ♡

Worf closed his eyes as the brush glided through his hair. In addition, Riker always let his hands run through the locks when he brushed them. It was a pleasant sensation. Worf enjoyed the slight tugging and smooth touches when, once in a while, Riker’s fingers would trace lines on his neck as they rearranged his hair.

Neither said anything, both just listened to the ship’s roar around them. And Riker’s quiet humming.

At first, Worf had been thoroughly opposed to this activity. The proposal of having his hair brushed, by William Riker of all people, had confused him.

_“Here, from Risa. It’s an organic brush to care for the hair and massage the scalp. It’s good for hair growth as well. I’d be happy to show it to you in practice.”_

Wasn’t that the job of the ship’s barber? Worf knew of several Klingons who took excessive care of their body, including their hair, but that was a rather unorthodox image that he would’ve never attached to himself. And even if regular brushing did benefit his hair, Worf did not understand why there was someone else needed to brush it _for him,_ while he was being completely deedless. The image had felt far too vulnerable; he thought he could just as well do it by himself. Add to that the fact that the brush was a present from Riker – Worf had been irritated, to say the least.

_“I also recommend this Betazoid conditioner. Deanna told me it works wonders, and I’m taking her word for-”_

_“Sir.”_

_“Ah. I’m sorry, Worf.”_

_“Are you telling a Klingon how to take care of his hair?”_

_“If I offended you, I apologize. I just want to make sure it won’t get damaged. Hair that’s this long needs a bit of care to last.”_

_“…Are you saying that because you don’t want me to cut it short again?”_

_“…Yes, actually. Because I think it’s a good look for you.”_

A purr formed deep inside of Worf at that memory. Compliments from Riker always made him feel valid, because Worf knew how genuine each one was. Despite Riker’s oozing charm and reputation as a sweet-talker, he did not kiss up to anybody. When he complimented someone, he meant it; when his awe was not present, he would simply say nothing, and Worf had not yet found a method to cope with that. Of course he appreciated the honesty, but…

Sometimes he caught himself thinking that Riker took a liking to him. Stolen looks and quick eye contact here and there, touches and smiles whenever they met, inside jokes that would make even the most liberal Starfleet officials sniffy – and just when Worf thought he was probably being presumptuous, Riker unloaded another disquieting amount of assiduities onto him, beyond simple courtesies.

Like brushing his hair every evening. Their relationship had become more… intense since then.

And somewhen, Worf’s own motivation had changed from finding that he did not want to feel like a blinkered barbarian to actually enjoying Riker’s quiet humming and soft fingers, his easy company and playful kindness in these late hours. Worf had decided to just enjoy the ritual as long as it might last, without any objections. Or hopes. Not that he _did_ hope for something more…

“Worf?”

“Hm-m?” Worf did not bother with the more correct ‘yes, Commander’. He felt too relaxed for having to retort yet another comment about being off duty. The brush left his hair-ends, and a warm hand came down on his shoulder.

Riker chuckled. “I guess we’re done. I’ll clean it up real quick, and I’ll be on my way.”

Eyes still closed, Worf growled, half in acknowledgment, half in protest, and he allowed himself another minute of unprofessionalism. He tilted his head sideways to rest it on his sofa’s backrest. They had always done it like this, with Riker standing behind the sofa to have the best access to Worf’s hair.

Worf enjoyed the feeling of soft strands falling over his shoulder, brushing his cheek. The sessions really did help make it feel good. He hummed.

It pulled another chuckle from Riker, and as his hand squeezed Worf’s muscles in a casual gesture, he remarked, “On the other hand, I should probably stay and relieve all that tension in your back. Good lord, you’re tightly wound. When was the last time you had a massage?”

Worf needed some time to form his next words, to ponder what kind of answer would result in what kind of proceedings. “It has been… a long time ago,” was what he settled on. Jaw clenching and relaxing ever so slightly.

“Thought so,” Riker said, and Worf could hear the smile in his raspy voice. He walked around the sofa to sit down behind Worf, who turned around to look at him over his shoulder. Riker flashed him a starry smile, the one that reached up all the way to his blue eyes, narrowed from grinning so brightly.

“Here, let me help you relax,” he said softly and moved Worf’s hair away to access his shoulders better.

Despite his surprise at the easiness of it all, Worf practically melted into the touch of Riker’s strong hands working his tired muscles. He had been right, they _were_ uptight. Worf hadn’t even noticed. Must’ve been because of their calisthenics program earlier today. Riker kneaded his flesh very intense and nicely even through the uniform’s thick fabric, and Worf let his head fall in relaxation.

The pleasure was completed by Riker humming some Earth tune that Worf was sure he had heard before. He didn’t bother trying to remember when. It was like he was under a charm, one that made him vulnerable and that he quietly feared might live to regret.

But it was a wonderful massage. When Riker’s hand came up to his neck again, Worf breathed in to inhale his scent. Musky, yes, but with that sweet note to it. Cherry, this week. It was a scent Worf trusted deeply, as though their comradery ran as deep as his oldest instincts.

The sensation alone made him forget his worries and feel comfortable. Safe, for lack of a better term. Usually all of Worf’s senses were alert, especially after Alexander had joined him on the Enterprise some years ago. True relaxation and trust were seldom, unwarranted even. But now he felt like melting right into this other man’s arms, to get even closer to him. The broad shoulders and warm chest were just too inviting.

The relaxation kept reducing Worf’s professionality. “Wouldn’t the better position be from behind the sofa?” he teased in a deep growl, only to quietly dismay when Riker’s hands slowed down, faltering. The humming had stopped.

“I’m only messing with you,” Worf clarified, unsure if his tone ought to be politer. His tongue pushed against the back of his teeth.

“Ah,” was all Riker said. Nothing more. He did not sound offended.

Worf felt his lips curl up in a smirk. “You may continue,” he said with amusement tinting his voice.

“Hm.” Riker obeyed. Somewhere in that hum was a smile, Worf could hear it.

Curious. Normally, Riker was the first one to pick up Worf’s more humorous remarks. However, now he had seemed genuinely unsettled about the offhand comment. Was he really unsure about how Worf could’ve meant it? That Worf would reject and order him around?

If Riker feared getting _rejected_ , then must he not have made advances after all?

A sweetness jumped inside Worf’s belly. Who knew dear William could be this cute, he thought. Despite having to know better, he enjoyed how slow and careful Riker’s hands were working him now. His imagination ran wild.

Leaning into the touch with a pleased growl, he took Riker’s left hand in his own, just as it was squeezing his shoulder, and turned around to look at him, drinking lusciously from sky blue eyes that fueled his courage even further – they were beautifully contrasted by pink cheeks, flushed, and Riker’s nostrils were flaring ever so slightly. He withdrew his legs to prevent them from touching Worf’s.

Wondering about this reaction, Worf straightened up – William Riker, right in front of him, was _blushing_. But was he uncomfortable? Worf couldn’t tell. And to be honest, Riker looked like he wasn’t all too sure himself.

The situation derailed, kind of.

To help him realize his intentions, Worf softened, gently squeezing the human hand in his before putting it down. Thinking of what to say. He felt his lips curl up in a warm smile when he settled on, “Thank you, Commander. I will see you tomorrow.”

Riker swallowed. “Yes,” he whispered, face softening into another smile, although this one was less flashy. It looked… dreamy.

Then, with a bit of a clumsy movement, Riker stroked a few locks of hair out of Worf’s face, leaned in, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. It was chaste and quickly over, yet his face was still flushed when he withdrew.

Worf’s eyes widened in surprise. His stomach turned in what should feel like a freefall but –

Riker just let his head fall down with a quiet laugh, which in turn made Worf’s face melt into a smile.

He gently nudged Riker’s cheek with his nose, finding how much he enjoyed the beard’s rasp against his own. It was an all-new sensation but did not feel half as foreign as he had thought it would. He also did not fail to notice how Riker leaned into the touch with a stuttering laugh.

A careful hand played with Worf’s hair, tugged at it, ever so gently. Enchanting, really, spellbound.

Although mentally, Worf was already putting old romantic poetry lines back together, their touch ended almost as quickly as it had started. William pulled away. The loss of touch made Worf feel both relieved and miserable, but blue eyes looked at him full of hope.

“That was… something.” A chuckle. “Give me some time to think, please,” Riker asked shyly – and Worf scolded himself for being surprised that a man like Riker needed to think about such matters. About _them_ , together, as though he wanted to make sure nothing went wrong.

Worf nodded.

He enjoyed every second of Riker, his literal _commanding officer_ , taking his leave with that bashful smile. Even the way he carried his body was jauntier than usual.

“Goodnight. I, err – I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Until then,” Worf smiled, feeling his body grow lighter with every second.

Once the doors had swished close, he growled happily to himself and threw his body back against the sofa. Riker’s scent still felt so present, hands still dancing over his body, and it delighted Worf devilishly. It was innocent but solely his own – because how many of his colleagues and fellow warriors got to experience that side of Riker? William? – and that made everything so much more exciting.

Worf felt alive, and brave, and –

He had never genuinely cared about being desired. But when the suitor was William T. Riker, Worf was intrigued. This was different than their calisthenics program. Maybe it was the fact that he was a subordinate officer to him, taking orders instead of making them. It was titillating to have that official veneer vanish so carefully and keep it a secret.

Or maybe it _was_ the sparkling-blue smile. Or the broad shoulders?

Anyhow – he would definitely continue to let his hair grow, Worf thought with a pleased growl.

_Let me, let me know what makes you happy  
And I’ll do it over, over and over again  
Let me, let me know just how you love me  
And we’ll spin around again in this field of flowers we’re in_


End file.
